


The Moth

by jeurfleur



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: bort, just gonna put this here to ward off some people, though it isnt really shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeurfleur/pseuds/jeurfleur
Summary: Sideshow Bob escapes prison again with his regular hunt in mind. However, he becomes the hunted himself, and must overcome a crucible of the mind and soul.





	The Moth

**Author's Note:**

> I have no editor and writing is kinda painful mentally atm, so alot of this probably seems rushed. regardless, this one goes out to saturdaymorningvillain. It wasnt intentional i know, but thanks for giving me some motivation

The Moth

 

I didn’t bid farewell to anyone. The minimum security prison was filled with unambitious swine, more grease than men. To be truthful I preferred the company of Snake and the others. None of these men cared to rise above their trough, their (minimally) secure cages. Only I, the betrodden diamond in the desert endure the ages punishment only to shine again.  

 

Escape will never truly be difficult. The clockwork of this town, this Springfield is noticeable to anyone willing to keep a list. The guard takes his Snickers break at three. A well placed glob of crazy glue keeping the prize in place will keep him busy for a solid hour. 

 

The 19th century estate which has been appropriated for Springfield’s minimum security prison is (criminally(minimally)) unappreciated by its keepers. Mostly I refer to its secret passageways, one of which leads from behind a portrait of Abraham Lincoln to the northwest hanging gardens. It is here I took in the air and sunlight of freedom while i secretly awaited the local busdriver to pull over and take his three fifteen restroom break in the bushes. (i hadn’t the heart to tell Martin this, he works so hard on his marigolds)

 

Among the the flowers I stripped myself of those wretched prison clothes, no more sanitary than a bowling shoe, and donned the tastefully made pants and top I had knit in crochet class. Not something I would wear to the Golden Globe but I couldn't be picky. 

I heard the grinding hiss of the bus breaks, and the whistling of the driver as he made his way to the hedge maze. (a Hello Dolly toon, I suppose there is culture even amongst the drabble). Quick as a jungle cat I stowed away underneath the back seats. Here I would wait until the boob would take me to the city, and park the bus, leaving me alone to stalk the lonely nighttime underbelly of Springfield. 

 

I waited underneath that seat, listening to the drivel of the masses. The washed up elderly prattling about their diets, the foolish youth whose minds were glued to the idiot's lantern even in its absence. Every speed bump crashing my skull against the seat above me, as my mind chanted its mantra, the only delicious taste left in my mouth.

 

Bart…..

 

_ Bart… _ ..

 

**_Bart….._ **

 

My daydreams rode away on the night mare, guiding me on an odyssey of sleeping dreams. The kind of second lifetime one can only experience in the general relativity of a too-short fitful slumber. Perhaps I will recall these dreams another time, but for now I must focus, for reality in this case is more strange and astonishing than fiction.

 

A shot, booming in my ears, and a rumbling, fumbling, gradual halt of my vessel woke me. My cranium smashed against the seat above me in surprise. I grumbled in momentary annoyance, but quickly came to my wits. Peaking around my hiding place I observed the bus driver flailing about, cursing and grumbling as he left out the front door.

 

“What in the seven hells did that incompetent boob manage to foul up?” I mumbled aloud, sneaking from beneath the seat to try and ascertain my location. 

 

Daylight had obviously expired, much as I intended, but the scenery was hindered by thick steam. A hissing spurt periodically filling the air along with a pulsing red light which further densified the fog, and tinted the interior of the bus on and off. 

 

I let out another low grumble before noticing the bus driver’s mumbling getting further away. I needed to follow him quickly. Our journey to the Springfield bus lot had obviously been halted, but he seemed to know where we were. Maybe he was seeking lodging, and any establishment frequented by rabble like him would surely ask few questions. I needed to establish a base. I needed to recollect and plan again. My plans are always flexible.

 

It was then that a train very suddenly passed by. I had not been listening for it so it startled me, and there i saw something. Above the flashing crimson warning lights were two seperate lights, glowing the same crimson hue. A shadow hunched over the train tracks partisan. Curiosity, perhaps fear kept me still. Some new and unknown emotion halted the track of my plans, my always overlapping mental process of survival and pursuit of what i want, what i deserve. 

 

Then the shape moved, and its eyes, they were its eyes, turned to me. The train ran its course. The shape and its eyes vanished. And i ran.

 

I lost myself amongst the dingy alleyways. Nearly lightless corridors of brick and garbage turned into each other seemingly endlessly. My vision stretched, my panic turning me to seek shelter among greater numbers. However, I had to avoid the lights of the city which i instinctively wanted to run toward. I had to avoid the populated areas in which i would be recognised. After all, i my face is known to the common people. But, where could i hide? Who could help me? Who would help me? 

 

This conflict of my internal interest, luckily, did not last. Within that lightless labyrinth i heard that accursed show tune whistling from the bus driver. I followed the sound like a moth, but instead of a flame i was following it was Hello Dolly (or whatever the hell common folk are listening to these days). I shuddered as i ran. 

 

The auto man was leisurely making his way into a back alley motel, The Ratty Matt. it pained me to follow, but i also could not fathom looking behind me. Quickly, i fashioned a crude hairpiece out of a plastic shopping bag and a newspaper, and splattered my face with some dirty water. An uncomfortable and greasy stage it was, but what kind of actor and fool could i be if i shy away from the grease paint? 

Slipping into the motel i saw that my suspicions were right on the money. That establishment was “a hole” as bart might say, 

 

_ Bart  _

 

The surfaces had obviously not been washed in decades, every bit covered in some plaster or vinyl wood substitute. The lights could hold a charge for longer than a nanosecond, and the air seemed to be replaced with body odor. Would i not so desperate i would refuse to breath there, but i managed to make my way to the front desk. 

 

The ancient bloated keeper of the den seemed too decrepit to exist. Surely i will never reach such an age, twould be unseamly. To my left i saw the auto man ascending the stairs to his room. It seemed that obtaining lodging in that particular establishment would be as simple as i had predicted. The second of my predictions to come true. I supposed i wasn't as lost as i thought. Perhaps my vision earlier was just an illusion. Perhaps i could return to my regular state of confident progression. 

 

Smoothly moving up to the front desk i slipped the den owner a twenty i found in Harold’s pillow case. (grumbles...Harold) the owner held the bill up to his glasses to make sure it had the appropriate numbers on it, tucked it into the front pocket of his corduroy jacket, and slid a key wielding the number 22 to me. I grabbed it and ascended the creaking stairway before the owner could look too closely.

 

My lodgings, which took a moment to find given the rusty and missing numbers on the doors, were even farther dilapidated than the foyer. I sat on the ragged maroon shag carpeting, not bothering to turn on the lights. At that moment i was far more concerned with gathering my wits. Gathering myself. I wondered how i could fall apart so suddenly, and overa a probable trick of the light. Seeing double, or the shadow of an animal. I gazed out the window, broken and covered in bars, out onto the dark city. I realized i didnt even know the name of wherever i was.

 

“It doesn't matter” i thought. In the morning i could found out. “I am capable of anything” it was odd to think that in actual words. It had always been a foregone conclusion. I had felt like a force of nature. I allowed myself to clear my mind, and slowly i nodded off again. 

 

I dreamt of that room, the room i imagine killing him in every day. Filled with images and idols of my former senior, stashed away in the most nowhere corner of suburbia. However, i was not where i was supposed to be. I was in the bed. Also, all of the perifenalia was replaced with the face and form of bart. I was unable to move, paralyzed with that same foreign emotion as i clung to the bed linens.Footsteps rang up the stairs. The doorknob turned, and i snapped awake in a cold sweat.

 

Another train was making its journey past the nearby street. The rumblings friction rattled the bars of the window and the crimson warning lights illuminated the hubble room. They didnt seem regular though, i figured they were broken as well. Then i did some more figuring and realized that the window did not face the train tracks. 

 

I didn't want to look, but i also couldn't resist. Directly outside the window, the view of the city was blocked by a large manlike shadow, and the dark room was illuminated by two large, circular, blinking eyes. 

 

Aghast, i stumbled away from the window, i hit the door of the room with a bang, and immediately clasped my hands across my mouth to keep from screaming and making any more alerting noise. My whole body rattled, shaking the loose door behind me. The meager contents of my stomach turned to ice. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the form across from me. Its red light casted shifting shadows along the floor, its form a pitch black silhouette against the dim back alley city lights. 

 

The creature could not be human despite its base shape, i decided that right away. Its shadory frame was seemingly covered in fur, bunching up at the collar. Its head bore two furry antenni, and its shoulders bore what looked like wings. This was confirmed by its incessant flapping, like an insect. It crawled about in jerking blurred motions, never staying in one position very long. More and more it began rattling the bars of the window. 

 

“Oh foul spector” i whispered shakily, slowly lowering my hands from my mouth. “do you understand my speech? Is there any amount of humanity in your form?” 

 

The creature stopped its rattling of the bars, and its glowing eyes concentrated on my person, as if listening. 

 

“I don't… understand. What am i feeling? What terrible eldritch horror have you awoken from the dark nethers of myself? What horrors still linger?  Are you demon, that you make my iron ego turn to jelly, with no more than a gaze? Judgement? You cannot be judgement for i haven't erred! I am perfect in action. I am the unstoppable force, but you have halted me. Not animal, not man, and why oh why do you seem to listen to my every word?” the creature jolted and shook the bars again, and i hit the door again, instinctively trying to back away. 

 

“Oh please stop” i wailed. I had become covered in sweat, and my face flowed with my blubbering fluids. The constant fluttering of giant wings penetrated my brain. “Leave me be! Just go away and i could forget, erase this night from my mind! Leave this room and my mind! Please oh god!”

 

I fell silent. My breath took and gave in shakey whispers. I waited in the dark with my eyes closed, too terrified to open them. However, the noises from the window had long since stopped. No noise of cars outside or planes in the air. 

 

Then, behind me, a proceeding of footsteps shuffled along the hallway. My eyes snapped ajar, and I saw that the creature was no longer in my window frame. Jolting from the door as if it were a cactus, and backed up into the bed in the left corner. I pulled the dingy linens about me and shook, eyes wide open pointing at the door. Surely the footsteps were the creatures, surely it had finally come inside for me. My time had come and i wasn't ready.

 

The steps halted at my door, a shadow creeping under the gap at the bottom of the door. The doorknob jiggled a bit. Then there were three knocks. 

 

“Hey mac, you okay in there?” the voice was distinctly not as monstrous as predicted. Tentatively, i raised from the bed, taking the blanket with me. Partially to hide my identity, partially for comfort. I opened the door just a smidge to see the auto man peeking in.

 

“Heya man, i heard a lot of screamin in here, everything alright?” he asked. I coughed a bit to change my voice just enough.

 

“Yes yes, just a bad dream, must have been something i ate.” i really didn't need more trouble at the moment. “Aw man i get that, the other day i ate some weirdly colored pastrami, didn't sit good for a week.” i shivered in disgust. “Well hope yah have a good rest of the… oh hey look who it is” i followed the man's eyes behind me, and there was, returned the grim visage! 

 

“Oh gods below us, oh angels above!” i lamented, curling into the corner. I thought i would never be rid of my haunting demon. My new shadow of fear and doubt. Not even the company of others could save me. In my torment i hardly noticed the auto man walking into the room. 

 

“Hey hey man, don't be that way, it's just mothman.” I looked up, and witnessed him leaning down and picking up a parcel. “Aw dude, ot looks like he brought you chips, im jealous.” indeed, he held a small bag of sour cream and onion dried potato snacks which were not there a moment ago. Standing up, cautiously, i accepted the gift from the auto man. Then, my eyes focussed on the demon in the window. 

 

Upon further study, the mothman, as it were, still had its circular glowing eyes on me. Instead of the black mass i had witnessed earlier, i then noticed his feathery coat of gray fuzz, and indeed he possessed large beating wings. His manlike hands gripped the bars in the window and rattled them, shocking me for a moment.

 

“Does….does moth man normally visit this establishment?” i questioned tentatively.

 

“I guess so, not as much since the tv’s got taken out. He’d stand in the window and get a free show if you get what i mean.” the auto man chuckled. “Guess he just likes you though, he never gave me no chips.” the automan, satisfied i was alright, waved goodbye after a time and closed the door behind him. 

 

I walked closer to the window. Mothman still clung there, scampering upside down in his inhuman lurchings. Then, he reached behind his wings, and pulled out a new object. He handed it through the bars, and realizing what it was, i took it. The object was a magazine, some months old, with my own image on the cover. 

 

 I felt profoundly foolish. This creature had not intended me harm. It, he had simply been a fan, and i had assumed far too much. 

 

“I apologize….mothman, i misjudged you. I suppose my confidence in my current path and situation was weaker than i thought.” A crack had appeared in my psyche, perhaps before the mothman had appeared to me. I wondered about bart, sitting with his covers over his head in that room.

 

Promptly, i reached into the pocket of my sensibly knitted suit, and pulled out a pen (you never know when a fan comes along) and signed the cover. I then handed the magazine back to mothman. He then opened it to a page within, to an interview i had done for People on my plans to audition for my prisons rendition of Hamilton. Siling, i sat next to the window, and quoted, while mothman closed his eyes and listened.

 

“Surprisingly Sarah, there are fewer men of color in a minimum security prison than one would think, but desperation is the mother of greatness…” I talked and talked, while mothman listened calmly. We would continue into the night till i dozed off, and i would not dream that balmy night in that filthy crucible of mine.


End file.
